


you cry a little, so do i

by ArtificialOwl



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Coping, Depression, Families of Choice, Gen, Hope, Illustrated Fic, Nightmares, World of Ruin, awkward texting, platonic intimacy, poor use of memes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21676687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtificialOwl/pseuds/ArtificialOwl
Summary: i know it was a joke but i also know you well enough to know when your jokes are covering up for something else. and you wouldn't be texting me at fuck my life oclock if something wasn't seriously wrong. so relax for nowPrompto felt something wash over him, something between relief and resignation. His eyes began to sting. He typed, hit send.it is indeed fuck my life oclock.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum & Aranea Highwind
Comments: 22
Kudos: 106
Collections: FFXV Minibang 2019, FFXV Writers Discord





	you cry a little, so do i

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time participating in a fandom event in years, and though it was hard to get back into the swing of writing, I had a wonderful time! And I was THRILLED to be partnered with [MysteriousBean](https://mysteriousbean5.tumblr.com/), who drew the most gorgeous art imaginable for this story. If you're on mobile (or even desktop), I'd suggest clicking on the art to make sure you're getting the full piece in all of its painstakingly perfect detail.
> 
> I absolutely loved the concept of the world of ruin and the timeskip we don't see much of, I loved the in-game dynamic between Aranea and Prompto in his DLC, and I'm a sucker for platonic intimacy, so here we go. 
> 
> The title is taken from the lyrics to "Hiding" by Florence and the Machine.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it <3

As the daemon went down, Prompto wondered, as he often did, if it had ever had a name.

He didn't like to admit it, but it got harder each time, in a way; watching them die, seeing them dissolve into the miasma he sometimes thought of a soul, or dreams, or memories of a life lived before its transmutation into something unspeakable. It was hard, sometimes, to separate himself from the _what-ifs_. What if he hadn't been kidnapped--no, liberated-- from Niflheim, what if he had wound up as an empty-eyed MT, what if the trajectory of fate hadn’t steered him away from becoming one of these things. It wasn't a thought he liked to entertain, but since life had become little more than darkness and horror, it was hard to stop his mind from wandering into its own dimly-lit corners. 

Sometimes, it felt like there was little else to fill his mind with. It all came along with looking back on how he’d gotten to where he was today.

Today. He'd returned from an escort mission to Lestallum, helping a small caravan of refugees get from point A to point B. The city was starting to overcrowd, and short-lived civilian outposts had begun to pop up. Stragglers and survivors across Eos were still trying to make their way to the city, and there's where Prompto’s help had come in. It’d been a stressful, yet successful, mission.

The drive back to Hammerhead hadn't been too bad; after all, it was easy, on near-empty roads, to speed past any creature that posed a threat, especially since Cindy had modified the old pick-up truck he'd adopted into a veritable tank of a vehicle. It even had spikes on the wheels, because Cindy was never one to spare any detail. Upon nearing Hammerhead, he could see a battle already in progress; a group of hunters surrounded a visibly weary Iron Giant, and by the time Prompto had jumped out of the truck and closed the distance to the melee, pulling out his pistols as he ran, the thing was already falling, disintegrating into mist. 

And here he was again: watching it go down, and wondering where it had come from.

***

"Just missed the action, huh?" Cindy called out as Prompto approached from across the lot. He could see her shoulders heave as she sighed and leaned against the side of the car she'd been waxing. Her voice was cheerful, yet weary; though her kindness and optimism was unwavering, she'd been worn down the past few years. Her dedication to her work, though, never faltered; the car gleamed in the lamplight. Prompto still wasn't sure how she made every four-wheeled thing she came in contact with into a work of art, but he figured it had something to do with love.

"Yeah." He stopped a few feet from her, shoving his hands into his pockets. Behind him, he could hear the energetic chatter of the hunters as they filed into Takka's, and he motioned at them with a toss of his head.

"Sure hope they like beans."

Cindy laughed, loud and genuine, and Prompto felt something inside of him uncoil. As cliched and corny as it felt to admit it to himself (and he'd never bring it up, because fuck, the fear of unreciprocated vulnerability or emotion was one of his worst), everything seemed a bit better in moments like these. When he made someone laugh; when he felt the sparks of true human connection; when he saw someone else in a moment of authentic happiness. It didn't feel as dark, out there in the world. 

"Hey, maybe they'll get lucky," Cindy shrugged, and went back to her work, squatting down to rub the cloth along the edge of the car's undercarriage. She looked up at him. "Ignis might be in there, workin his magic. Might have some of his leftovers. You know he's been cookin up some tasty treats in there. Say, you seen him lately? Haven't seen you two together in a while."

"Nah," Prompto sighed, and shook his head. He's been doing his own thing, you know? With Talcott... or cooking... looking for ingredients... I dunno. Ignis stuff."

"And I guess Gladio is still doing Gladio stuff, huh?"

"Yeah, you could say that..."

"And you're doing Prompto stuff."

"Yeah. I guess."

"Y'all ever gonna do your together stuff again? Y'all fixin to hang out sometime? You know I'd join ya."

"I mean... we do sometimes." Prompto lowered himself down, sat on the concrete, and waved away some of the gnats that floated in the gaslights before leaning back on his hands. "And you ask me this all the time. How many years has it been now?"

Cindy stopped her work and looked at him. "Yeah well. I'm just like everyone else, wishin for what used to be, I guess. When y'all would pull up here and we'd sit out around a fire just bullshittin and whatnot. It was nice, you know?" she looked up at the starless sky. "I know Noct ain't here," --and Prompto felt a sudden wave of sadness-- "but we could still make gettin together a regular occurrence sometime."

Prompto leaned back and laid down on the concrete, spread-eagle, and stared into the void above him. "Yeah well. Maybe. I know it's tapered off, but maybe it'll pick back up..."

"You got a phone, ain't ya? You heard of textin?"

"Well--"

"I text Iris all the time. Such a sweet lady, and kickin ass out there, too! I wish I were a fighter like her. Still never bothered to learn, even now. Though I bet I could really knock someone silly with a wrench."

Prompto laughed. The idea of Cindy beating someone up with a wrench was... interesting.

"Yeah I have a phone. We text sometimes. But mostly it's, like, memes and stuff."

Cindy shook her head. "Yeah..."

They were silent for a few moments. Prompto sat back up.

"Well," he said, "I'm probably gonna go decompress... and go to sleep."

"Gotcha. You got anything going on tomorrow, or can you sleep in for a change?"

"Listen, if it means having something to do, I'll take it. I'll take being occupied over sleeping in... well, mostly..."

"I think you should sleep in."

"Well, as long as nothing comes up... no fires to put out, nothing to do, no people in need of saving by a valiant hero full of charisma and comic relief, you know."

Cindy laughed, but she sounded tired again. "Well, I'm always finding work for myself to do, so I guess I can't judge too much. You have sweet dreams now, darlin."

"Yeah," Prompto said, standing and dusting himself off. "Sweet dreams... you too, Cindy."

She smiled, but he could see the sadness behind it. 

He headed across the lot towards his trailer.

***

The nightmares had started again.

They were always the same, a sensation of falling and the rushing sound of machinery, endless fields of snow. Prompto would wake up cold and shivering, somehow, and the fear of further dreams would make it harder to fall back asleep. Luckily, there wasn't much rhyme or reason to be had anyway when it came to sleep nowadays; no schedule governed by the sun, no true delineation of time. Words like _today_ and _tomorrow_ felt strange in his mouth, stuck in his throat like so many platitudes he'd spoken, over and over again, all echoes in the darkness. 

According to his phone, it was 2:28 am when he awoke, teeth clenched and limbs thrashing, from the same old dream. He sat up in bed and opened his eyes wide, desperate to shake the last remnants of unreality from his mind as he focused on breathing. He could taste blood in his mouth; he'd bitten his tongue again somewhere along the way. It was hard, sometimes, to keep the tears in, but right now he managed. He couldn't say it had gotten easier; more like he'd practiced enough relaxation techniques to help mute the feeling when it happened. 

Tonight, though, the ache in his chest was worse than usual, the deep sadness that rose and pulled at him, the hollow he fought to quell when he thought of Noctis. He hadn't expected it to be this hard, hadn't considered what it'd be like to feel alone again, as silly as that was. Deep down he knew he wasn't alone, that he still had Gladio, and Iggy, and Cindy and Iris and Talcott, but even so, everyone was _busy_ , wrapped up in their own work, their own goals, their own personal demons. 

Now, Prompto regretted never having learned to ask for help from anyone but Noctis. 

There was one person, though, that he felt comfortable with; someone he'd been through a little piece of hell with, the first person to see a part of him and hear an admission of identity he hadn't shared with anyone prior-- not even Noctis. He regretted it now, having not trusted his best friend sooner and the time he'd wasted telling himself he'd never be accepted. Often, he felt guilty that he'd ever, in his self-depreciation, doubted the integrity of his relationship with Noctis by hiding a dark part of himself. 

But now, there was still that one person.

His hand was still shaking as he steeled himself and picked up his phone from the nightstand.

He opened his contact list, and selected the very first name that appeared.

_Aranea_

He sighed heavily and hesitated. Was he really going to do this? It wasn't as if he and Aranea weren't friends; they just didn't talk _like that_ very often, or even at all, really. Not since they'd been together those few days years ago. It was almost as if it'd become an unspoken bond, something that had happened in one momentous wave, a storm that had faded into a quiet understanding between the two of them. But he knew he could trust her. Of that much he was certain.

_hey are you up?_

He hit send.

He immediately regretted it. 

He was suddenly aware of his quickening heartbeat. He swung his legs out over the side of the bed and stood up, filled with nervous energy. "Why did you do that," he muttered to himself. He wanted to kick himself. What was she going to do? What was the point of texting her? He was just going to make himself look like an idiot, and a whiny one at that. But then again, she'd probably be mad if she knew he was thinking that--

The quiet _wark_ of a Chocobo-- his text tone-- went off, accompanied by the vibration of his phone against the bed.

Cringing, he turned and picked up his phone, bracing himself to read the response.

_yeah what's with the fuckboy text? lol_

He half-laughed through a heavy sigh, anxiety rushing out of him in a _whoosh_ of breath. Relieved, he ran a still-trembling hand through his hair.

 _Sorry!!! I didn't mean it that way_ he began, and another text came through as he wrote.

_A/S/L?_

Now he burst out laughing, and it felt like a relief, the stress and anxiety that had washed over him fading in a rush. He continued his text.

_i just couldn't sleep. i keep having nightmares about dumb shit_

he paused, hesitant to reveal his feelings. 

"Fuck it," he said aloud and continued.

 _and they're pretty bad. I keep waking up. Kind of anxious. Just feeling kind of alone i guess. are you out hunting? i should probably take a lesson from that. i don't think i'm keeping myself busy enough._ Send.

 _sorry for rambling_ he added, and sent.

 _also 24/m/hammerhead if you want to come over..... nah just kidding............... haha unless? ;)_ he sent, laughing to himself. 

He put his phone down on the bed and stood up, stretching. A few seconds later, his phone went off again. He nearly dove for it, yet once again, cringed and hesitated to open the response. 

_yeah i'll come over._

" _What?_ " Prompto said out loud.

_i can be there in like a half hour actually, i'm not too far north atm_

_oh are you sure? you really don't have to, that was just a joke! and also i wasn't like inferring anything weird or anything like that, hopefully you've seen that meme? the haha unless... sorry_

_Lmao bruh... i know you weren't. and i know it was a joke but i also know you well enough to know when your jokes are covering up for something else. and you wouldn't be texting me at fuck my life oclock if something wasn't seriously wrong. so relax for now_

Prompto felt something wash over him, something between relief and resignation. His eyes began to sting. He typed, hit send.

_it is indeed fuck my life oclock._

_ok then sit tight bro_ was the almost-instant reply, followed by a thumbs-up emoji a few seconds later. 

Prompto wiped his eyes and sighed shakily, feeling the relief of giving in slowly seeping into a feeling of embarrassment. Wasn’t this what he was trying to avoid? He didn’t want to look weak or fragile, especially not in front of Aranea, and suddenly every regret flooded into his mind, every moment of even the slightest embarrassment in what seemed like his entire lifetime. It was hard, especially lately, to stop his thoughts from spiraling down into dark places once he got started like this-- places that told him he was worthless, a fake, something worth throwing away like all of those other MTs he’d seen floating in tubes.

He had nightmares about that, too.

“Stop,” he said aloud, to himself, eyes closed. “Stop it.”

He forced his mind to empty, forced himself to focus on nothing but his breathing, until the rising panic and feelings of emptiness began to loosen up and slip from his head. He was able to put them aside--he figured he’d turned compartmentalizing into an art at this point-- and focus on the task at hand, which happened to be putting on pants and getting outside to wait for Aranea.

He pulled on his pajama pants (Cactuar print, a gag gift from Noctis that Prompto henceforth wore unironically and with secret fondness), looked in the mirror on his wall to make sure he didn’t look egregiously terrible, slipped on his sneakers, and headed outside.

***

Prompto scrolled, somewhat mindlessly, through a social media feed on his phone and tried not to look too eager for the arrival of Aranea's ship, in case she caught sight of him from a distance. The air outside was cool, and still, and while he welcomed the peace of silence, there was also the knowledge that it wouldn't last long. It was only a matter of time. _Kind of like happiness,_ he thought to himself. _Or even friendship.._ He continued scrolling, not really seeing anything his finger slid past. It's not like there was much happening anyway; What was there to post about? Was anything even possible beyond _Hey all, I didn't die today! Here's another selfie lol #depressedinthedark_

He opened his phone's photo roll and scrolled back through rows and rows of thumbnails to the photos taken _before,_ which didn't take long, because he didn't take many photos lately, and he used his camera the vast majority of the time. Sometimes, it was still hard to fathom exactly how he’d wound up here, in this life, in this moment, and sometimes it almost felt like too much to think about. 

He’d gone way back in his camera roll, and his chest tightened with emotion as he scrolled by photos in Noctis’ old apartment, selfies of them on his couch in the stupidest face filters they could find, a picture of Noct giving the finger as he ate ramen over the sink. Photos with Ignis, and Gladio, the four of them at a diner, Gladio posing dramatically with the Regalia. Noctis asleep in the backseat. 

Noctis. Astrals, did he fucking miss Noctis. The ache was almost unbearable sometimes, especially when coupled with the ever-present fear of the unknown and the uncertainty as to when or if Noctis would ever come back. Or if things would be the same, when or if he did. Or if Noctis would change his mind, about Prompto, about what Prompto _was_ , about his decision to put that aside and accept Prompto as he was-- 

He made an undignified noise and almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a shout behind him.

"Hey! Whatcha doing out here?"

"Oh _fucking_ Astrals," Prompto breathed, folding over on himself. "Where did you come from? Warn me next time, I could have shot you."

"Oh yeah?" Aranea swaggered up to him, smiling. "You got a big gun tucked in your pajamas? Don't get me wrong, that'd be hot, but you're clearly not armed, and you're clearly not aware of your surroundings, and that's not hot at all."

Prompto hoped it was too dark for her to see whatever the heat in his face was doing to his skin, especially when it dawned on him that no, he hadn’t taken a gun with him. 

"It's, uh, nice to see you too, Aranea.”

She stared at him, her face softening as she looked into his eyes for a second. "It's nice to see you too. Really." She clapped a hand-- though not as hard as he expected-- on his shoulder. "So you wanna talk?"

“We can uh... we can go to my trailer. Unless you want to sit in Takka's, but it'd be nice to be able to relax, unless you're not comfortable, because there's nowhere to sit except for the bed. Just so you know. If you're uncomfortable with that it's ok--"

"Oh, please, Prompto, sweetie, shut up," Aranea interrupted. "I'll sit on the floor. Just lead the way."

 _Oh right, the floor._ Prompto hadn't even thought of that, even though it was obvious, so now who knows what she thought he was thinking, which wasn’t what he was thinking, but maybe it was just time for him to stop thinking, and-- 

He did just that--made himself stop thinking--and wordlessly waved for her to follow him.

***

“Nice place you got here,” Aranea said, looking around the trailer. Prompto entered after her, pulling the door shut behind him and tossing his keys onto the desk by the door. Or at least, what used to be a desk; now it was more of a stand for holding a pile of random crap he’d amassed and couldn’t be bothered to find a place for.

“Yeah, it’s uh… I mean it’s a home I guess. Doesn’t really feel like a home, but whatever.”

“I mean, home is what you make it, right? It can be whatever you want it to be.” Aranea took a closer look at the faded and slightly ripped-up Justice Monsters poster haphazardly thumbtacked to a corkboard on the wall.

“Oh that one, that’s an original,” Prompto said, pushing aside a pile of dirty clothes on the floor with a foot in order to step closer. _Shit, I need to do laundry._ “I probably should have kept it in better shape, but you know, I was younger and didn’t really think about how much it’d mean later I guess.”

“Well that’s an apt metaphor if I ever heard one,” Aranea sighed. “You don’t realize how much a lot of things mean, until you get older. Also, you’re a nerd.”

“You got me there.”

“Mind if I sit on the bed?”

“Uh-- sure.”

“I know, I said I’d sit on the floor, but let’s be real here. I’m also gonna ask you if I can crash, in your bed. If you’re truly uncomfortable, I’ll sleep on the floor, no problem. But sometimes a girl in your bed is just a girl in your bed, you know?”

“Uh…”

“Not like I’m a girl anymore.” Aranea flopped back, spread-eagled, onto the bed. She turned her head to look at Prompto. “So what’s going on?”

Aranea was here, alright. Good old bold, giving-no-fucks, blunt Aranea. It felt like a relief, and like a blessing, and something so wonderfully familiar, despite the fact that the time they’d spent together amounted to a somewhat brief total overall. But he felt so close to her, and like he could trust her, and like what they _had_ been through together was enough. She’d seen the worst of him--or at least what he considered to be the worst of him, who he really was, all of his secrets-- before anyone else had. 

So there was no reason why he should be feeling so anxious right now, so suddenly scared to speak and suddenly so… sweaty.

He wiped his palms on his pajama pants.

“I’m just… I don’t know. I’m just depressed. I don’t know what to do with myself. I mean I have plenty to do with myself, kind of, and I help out with stuff but it just feels like it doesn’t matter, you know? I just feel… alone.” He anxiously tugged on the hem of his shirt, crossed his arms. 

“Like you’re just going through the motions?”

“Yes.”

“On autopilot.”

“Yeah.”

“You hate the dark.”

“Yeah.”

Aranea sat up, slowly, and hung her head slightly, crossing her arms. She looked at him. “Well you’re not alone in it.”

Prompto shrugged.

“Why don’t you come sit? And also, you got some pajamas I can borrow?”

“I like how you’re inviting me to sit on my own bed.”

Aranea laughed, tilting her head back. “Yeah. Sorry. I own the place now. I figured you’d realize.”

Prompto crouched down, digging through the piles of clothes on the floor. “Some of these are clean, I swear,” 

“Would a light help?” Aranea asked, leaning to look over the edge of the bed. “Where _are_ the lights, anyway?” 

“Uh, there’s a lamp, but it’s kind of dim.” _A-ha_. Prompto rifled through the pile of neatly-folded clothes he’d left amongst the clothes yet to be washed. 

“I have, uh, gym shorts… they’re way too small for me, but they’ll probably fit you...”

“That’s fine,” Aranea said. “Just turn around a sec and I’ll change.”

Prompto tossed the shorts over, and turned around. He pulled his own pajama pants off; as much as he loved the Cactuar pants, they were fleece, and it was too warm in the trailer. He pulled on a pair of shorts over his boxers, and he could hear the rustling of Aranea’s clothing behind him as she likely shed her pants, probably her bra, whatever extra clothing she currently didn’t need. 

“I’m putting my stuff on the nightstand so it doesn’t get devoured by the chaos on your floor,” she said.

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that, I didn’t really have time to clean--”

“Dude, I don’t care,” Aranea interrupted. “And you can turn around. Come sit over here.”

“This is so awkward,” Prompto blurted out.

“Yeah. Life is awkward, and it only gets worse. Get used to it.”

Prompto sat on the bed next to her, and opened the shade to the bedside window a bit more. Some dim light filtered in from the neon fixtures of the gas station and the larger gaslights on the lot. Aranea’s face was illuminated, and Prompto saw that she looked tired. Not defeated, not different, just _tired._ It was that look he saw on everyone, nowadays. The look he saw on his own face, whenever he looked in the mirror.

“So are quarter-life crisises a thing?” his voice sounded too loud in the silence. “Because I know that mid-life crisises are a thing. But like, what about when you’re about to be 25?”

Aranea stretched and laid down next to him, wrapping her arms around a pillow and making herself what looked to be exceedingly comfortable. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I went through it. Dude,” her tone changed, slightly louder, more intense. “I know what you’re going through, and I’m about to lay this all out, okay? You think _you_ were living a lie? I went through most of my adult life so far following orders I didn’t believe in. I was duped. I had a hand, no matter how indirectly, in a lot of terrible shit. And I regret every minute. You think I don’t feel that and struggle with that every single day? Because I do.” Her voice softened, quieted. “And I’m not saying this to minimize what you’ve been through or what you’re going through. I’m not saying that all. I’m just saying this to let you know that you’re not alone, and you never have been. You just think you are.” She shifted. “Anyway yeah, you’re having a quarter-life crisis for sure.”

Prompto’s eyes had begun to sting again. 

And Aranea, he realized, had needed someone to talk to just as much as he did. 

He slowly laid down, stretching out next to her to face her, and saw that her eyes were downcast, avoiding his face.

“Your thirties will be better,” she mumbled. “You’re old enough to have your shit figured out, but you’re still young enough to have fun, in your thirties. If you can. And you’ll be able to.” She looked up to meet his eyes, and Prompto understood what she meant. The time she’d lost and the time she’d spent alone. Empathy tightened his throat.

“And I know what it’s like to have nightmares,” she added. “About shit you can’t control. Couldn’t control.”

“Or your best friend pushing you off a train,” Prompto said.

“Again, I’m not minimizing. I’ll never know what that feels like. But I can imagine how fucking awful it does feel. And you’ll never know what things I’ve been through feel like, but I’m sure you can imagine that too. What I’m saying is… well, I don’t know, I’m saying a lot of things.”

Prompto reached out, hesitantly, wondering when the hell he had gotten so bold, and brushed his fingers over the back of her hand. She didn’t look at him, but she reacted-- and took his hand in hers. 

“I know,” she said. “You’re nervous.” Prompto could hear the typical Aranea attitude returning to her voice. “You got a girlfriend who might take this the wrong way?”

“What? No! Please…” Prompto felt like he was shrinking, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out. “I’ve never even had a girlfriend. Who do you think you’re talking to here?”

“Ha! Still have that self-deprecating sense of humor. Well, no need to rush it. I gotta say though, the ladies are missing out on some prime real estate.” She playfully punched him in the shoulder, and then took his hand again, softly.

“I mean,” Prompto began to laugh, in spite of himself. “It’s dark enough that they can’t see my face, so you think they’d be less horrified…”

“Wow. Shut up,” Aranea said, laughing uproariously. Her laughter was contagious, and Prompto laughed harder. It felt good. It felt better than anything he’d felt in a while, to laugh with this person, to touch this person, to feel nothing but relief and connection. He felt alive.

His mind began to drift back to darker things, and his laughter faded. Aranea had stopped laughing too, and it was silent, and mostly dark, and her eyes were gleaming, staring into his, reflecting the artificial light. “I mean, not to get all dark again, but I do feel ugly, you know? It gets hard, dealing with those things out there, and wondering who they used to be. I try not to think about it, but it’s hard not to wonder what it would feel like to end up as one of those. Or if I could have become something like that… just mindless…”

“Well you’re not,” Aranea said, softly, squeezing his hand. “I know that doesn’t necessarily help, but trust me, if you keep dwelling on what could have been or what could be or whatever other catastrophe, you’ll go fucking crazy. It’s hard not to. But you gotta try.”

“I’ve gotten good at shutting my brain off, but it’s hard…”

“I know. And it sucks. But I’ve got that little switch too. And I have to flip it more often than I like.”

Prompto hummed in acknowledgment. 

“And. I have to say. What you said before about your friend, about Noctis, pushing you off the train” --Prompto felt anxiety rush into him-- ”I know that’s also hard to shake, even though it wasn’t him. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t him, because your brain saw what it saw and felt what it felt, and despite what the truth is, it’s never going to be easy to process that. But you have to tell yourself: it wasn’t him. He’d never do that. And honestly,” she paused, “he fucking loved you. He loved you to death. I know I told you that before. So do the other guys, but Noctis most of all. Trust me.”

Well, that was that. Prompto couldn’t stop the tears. The stinging in his eyes had escalated into full-blown waterworks and he pulled his hand away from hers to join his other, already covering his face. He shook silently, doing everything he could to stay silent, to control himself as best he could and not let the sobs out. He did that enough when he was alone. He didn’t need to do it in front of someone else.

He felt Aranea’s hand on his shoulder, felt her pull her body closer to his. “It’s okay,” she said, gently rubbing his arm. “We’re all gonna be okay.”

He sighed shakily, sniffing, wiping his eyes. “I--” he stammered, swallowing. “I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you--” he laughed, despite himself, through his tears, “that I snore and drool.”

Aranea’s laugh was warm and genuine. “I snore and drool too. It’ll be a fun night.” She rolled over and reached for something, and when she turned back around, she had a shirt in her hand. “Got this off the floor, don’t know if it’s dirty, but here.”

“Ah,” Prompto took it. He shrugged, and blew his nose into it. “Laundry day will come again.”

“Looks like laundry day no longer exists here, kiddo.”

Prompto balled up the shirt and threw it off into a corner, not even caring how gross or uncouth he looked or what a mess his life looked like. Despite his surroundings, despite the messy trailer and his messy mental state and the messy dark world crumbling around them all, he wasn’t doing so bad. _I’m going to be okay,_ he thought. _I’m enough. I’m a mess, but I’m enough. I’m okay._

“So wait,” Prompto said, “I’m guessing you were serious about crashing?”

“Hell yeah I am. I can sleep on the floor if you want.”

“Nah it’s cool.” He took her hand again. “Stay here.”

Aranea gave him a slow thumbs up with her free hand, her eyes already closed. Suddenly, as if it were contagious, he felt the exhaustion wash over him. The daemon, the nightmares, the anxiety, the awful embarrassing crying… just how much he’d been through in the past few hours hit him all at once, and suddenly, his eyelids felt impossibly heavy. He closed them, and listened to Aranea breathe.

He didn’t have any nightmares that night.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/186244280@N04/49296414008/in/dateposted-public/)

A firm knocking on the door of his trailer jolted Prompto out of a deep sleep.

For a moment, he didn't know what was going on. He sat up, startled, because Aranea was there, next to him, in his bed, sprawled out and drooling on his pillow, her leg draped over one of his legs and her hand on his other. It only took a split second for him to wake enough for the events of the evening to snap back into his head, and he gently slipped out from under Aranea's leg.

The knocking continued. Probably someone needing something, another rescue, escort, something...

He opened the door to find Cindy.

"Good mornin!" she said. She opened her mouth to continue but leaned to the side to look around him, a look of surprise on her face as she began to stammer. "Oh, oh hi! And uh, good morning to you too, Miss Aranea! Nice to see you!"

"Hey there!" Aranea called from behind him, now awake. "What a lovely dark morning," she said, at the exact same time Prompto hastily exclaimed “We didn’t do anything.”

Aranea laughed, and Prompto repeated himself. “Nothing happened, we just talked--”

Cindy waved away his words with a hand. “Hey, I don’t care what happened between y’all.” Cindy said cheerfully. Her voice warmed. “Honestly, I’m just glad you’re here.”

Prompto smiled. Aranea was in his bed, and Cindy was at his door, and while the Prompto of only a few years ago would have been heating up at the mere _thought_ of such a wild fantasy, right now he couldn’t imagine this ever being anything more than platonic. After all, everyone left were... family at this point-- a family who didn’t always talk very often, with members who stayed maybe a little too guarded sometimes-- but they were family nonetheless.

"Anyway I uh... I was just wondering if y'all wanted some breakfast. With uh, with me and Ignis. And don’t worry Miss Aranea, there’s more than enough for you to join."

" _Ignis?_ " Prompto was taken aback.

"Yeah."

"How'd you get Ignis to--"

"It's called texting," Cindy interrupted. "You know, the thing we talked about last night. You should try it sometime."

“Yeah.” Prompto felt a gentle punch on his shoulder, as Aranea stood and stretched behind him. “Clearly, it works," she said. “You summoned _me_ , anyway.” Prompto felt a wave of emotion in his chest. “And yeah!” Aranea continued, “breakfast sounds great. I’m starving.”

Cindy smiled proudly. "Oh that’s great! He's cooking in Takka's right now. I set up a table for us all special.” Cindy smiled proudly. “We’re our own VIP status, you know." 

“Oh wow. Ok.” Prompto felt oddly overwhelmed, and a little nervous. “Yeah, I just, let me get dressed, I just gotta do my hair--”

Aranea threw what she hoped was a clean shirt at him. “Dude, fuck your hair. Here. I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

***

_Maybe,_ Prompto thought, as he and Aranea followed Cindy towards Takka’s, _things aren’t all that bad._ Well, technically they were bad, and things would be very hard, for a very long time-- maybe even forever-- but right now, he had hope.

In fact, things almost felt back to normal. Together, they'd be okay.

_Together, we’re not in the dark._


End file.
